The True Story of Baseball
by Riva
Summary: *Post "The UnNatural" - Scully never played baseball? Don't you believe it...


TITLE: The True Story of Baseball  
  
AUTHOR: Riva  
  
E-MAIL: rogueangel10@juno.com  
  
RATING: G or PG  
  
CATEGORY: In/Post-episode V, ScullyChildhood, UST  
  
SUMMARY: Scully never played baseball? Don't you believe it.  
  
SPOILERS: Well duh. "The UnNatural" in all it's glory!   
  
DISCLAIMER:  
(Sung to the tune of "Take Me Out To The Ballgame")  
I..don't own the XFi-les  
I..don't own 'em at all  
If I did I'd be rich and have lots of cash  
And yes Mulder, I think it's a nice piece of ash  
But I can't, can't, can't take the credit  
And isn't that just a shame?  
'Cause if I could, there'd be more shippyness   
At the OOOLLD BAALLLLGAAAMMEEE!!!!  
  
ARCHIVE: PLEASE!!! (Just let me know where!)  
  
FEEDBACK: Oh yes, lovely feedback, nice feedback......I live off the  
stuff! Please just send a note? Just a line or two? shameless  
blubbering  
  
AUTHORS NOTES: This is post "The UnNatural", and has *major* spoilers for  
the episode, even though most of the actual STORY takes place in Scully's  
childhood.  
PS. The places mentioned here are fictional, and have not relation to any  
real places of the same name that may or may not exist.  
  
And on with the show...............  
  
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------------ T H E X - F I L E S ---------------   
"The TRUE Story of Baseball"  
--------- By Riva ----------  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
**April, 1975**  
  
"Hey batta, batta, batta. SA-WING batta!!"  
  
It was another beautiful, sun-drenched day at the Little League Ballpark  
in Camden, Maine. The crowd on the bleachers were hot, but not  
unpleasantly so, buzzing with the excitement of the game. Camden was a  
small town, heavily populated with close-knit navy families, and Little  
League Baseball was one of the town's biggest events. And the game that  
unfolded on *this* sunny day was especially important.  
  
It was the final showdown between the District 2 Barracudas and the  
District 5 Pirates. Tension was high, and parents were armed with cameras  
and energetic shouts.  
It was the bottom of the ninth inning, and the bases were loaded.  
  
And the Pirates had just called out their secret weapon.  
  
Cheers and jeers filled the air as the tiny ballplayer stepped out onto  
the diamond. Cheers from the Pirates and their supporters, cheers for the  
secret powerhouse they knew they possessed. Those Barracudas would never  
know what hit them. The "D" was on the field.  
Jeers from the Barracuda's dugout. Jeers, because the boys of the  
Barracudas were sure the Pirates had just spelled out their death  
warrant. Why not Big Mikey, or Slip? Why would they send out this...this  
tiny, *unknown* entity?   
"Never should have been allowed to play in the first place." Whispers  
fell and scattered like leaves in the wind as the tiny figure in black  
and white walked onto the dust.  
  
The bat rack. Small fingers trailed across grimy bats, stopping to hover  
over one before grasping it.  
  
The baseball cap was lifted from the head of the batter, spilling red  
curls onto slight, yet wiry shoulders. A blue hairband was pulled off a  
slim wrist, and wound tightly around the copper cascade, until the  
batter's helmet could be settled firmly around her head.  
  
And Dana Katharine Scully, age 11, stepped up to bat.  
  
The pitcher for the Barracudas sneered in the direction of homeplate.  
(Girls.) he thought in disgust, as if it were the ultimate insult.  
  
The batter looked back at the mound. Her lip curled downward. (Pitchers.)  
she thought, as if it were the ultimate insult.  
  
The first pitch, a fast one, speeds by homeplate before she even has time  
to react. The umpire, (who is also the pitchers father) roars  
out..."STRIKE ONE."  
A boo echoes through the crowd. The D doesn't mind, she just puts the bat  
back up to her shoulder, and tenses her muscles again.  
  
The second pitch. A high curve. Out of range of the tiny hitter, but  
again, "STRIKE!!" fills the air.  
  
No matter. No matter.  
One pitch left.  
  
A hush fell over the crowd.   
It was as if this moment, this moment full of youth and popcorn,  
innocence and candy apples, would decided the fate of the whole town.  
The Pirates were counting on "The D".  
And she knew it.  
"The D" never let anyone down.   
  
Her size 4 cleats dug into the ground, churning the dust beneath them.  
The ball was hers, and she knew it.  
  
Perfect moment, frozen in time.  
  
Hands grasping the ball, tensing to let fly.  
  
Hands grasping the bat, tensing to swing.  
  
Eyes narrow......hearts pound.   
  
And the pitcher snaps back, springs forward, and the ball flies.  
  
And the batter swings, the force of the bat's path through the lazy  
summer air sounding an audible hiss.  
  
And the ball.....thuds into the catcher's hands with a painful echo.  
  
And the moment shatters.  
  
A wild cheering follows the fateful swing, cheering from the Barracuda's  
bleachers and dugout, but on the Pirates side, all is strangely quiet.  
Slowly, families begin to file out of the park, gathering possessions and  
collecting kids.   
  
"It's okay Dana." An older sister smiles.  
(It's not okay, Missy.) A silent 11 year old retorts. (What would you  
know with your flowers and peace signs? What do *you* know about  
baseball?)  
  
"You were great honey." A mother smiles.  
(I let them down, mom) A wordless 11 year old responds. (You can't regain  
lost honor.)  
  
"Don't worry about it, Starbuck." A father rests a hand on a small  
shoulder.  
(Oh Daddy. This was my chance! You were here!) A silently sobbing little  
girl looks at the ground, holding it in. (You're never here. But today  
you were. And I blew it. How can I not worry?)  
  
"You'll get 'em next time D." A brother lightly punches her shoulder.  
(Next time? *Next* time, Billy?) A resolve fills the empty blue eyes.  
(There isn't going to *be* a "next time". I'll never play baseball  
again.)   
  
And she never did......  
  
...That is, until *He* offered to teach her.  
  
  
  
**April, 1999***  
  
It was another beautiful, star-lit evening in a deserted ballpark in  
Washinton, DC. The man in the diamond was chilly, but not unpleasantly  
so.  
  
The sound of footsteps on gravel.  
  
Her voice;  
"So I get this message marked "Urgent" on my answering service from one  
"Fox Mantle", telling me to come down here for a very special, very  
early, or very late birthday present."  
  
He remains silent, so Scully raises an eyebrow. "I don't see any nicely  
wrapped presents lying around Mulder, so what gives?"  
  
"You've never played baseball before, have you Scully?"  
  
Scully sighes inwardly, remembering the old disappointment of that  
fateful summer she'd never forgotten. She was a bit surprised how little  
Mulder knew about her childhood, after all, *she* seemed to know  
everything about *his*. He obviously had a predetermined opinion of her  
regardless. What could Mulder have up his sleeve anyway?   
Well...only one way to find out.  
  
"No, I suppose I found more necessary things to do with my time  
than...slap a piece of horsehide with a stick."  
  
He turns to her, focusing his intense gaze on her for the first time.  
"Get over here, Scully."  
  
So she did.  
  
Tensions were high, the air was full of promise and possibility.  
It was the bottom of the sixth year, and the dialog was loaded.  
  
"Hips...before hands." "We're going to wait on the pitch, keep our eye  
on the ball....and then were going to make contact. We're not going to  
think, we're just going to let it fly."   
  
And Mulder had just called out his secret weapon.  
  
Perfect moment. Frozen in time.  
  
Eyes narrow....hearts pound.  
  
Joy is light, in this moment, this moment full of youth and popcorn,  
innocence and candy apples.  
  
He was counting on Scully.  
And she knew it.  
Scully would never let him down.  
  
A ball missed is a ball never regained......but even so, it is *never*  
the last pitch.   
  
And Dana Katharine Scully, age 35, stepped up to bat.  
  
And she knew this time, she knew it would be a home run.  
  
  
  
----------------------------------------------------------  
END.  
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Praise? Flames? cringe Send 'em all to DrScully@imneverwrong.com  
  
--------- THE RUTH IS OUT THERE ------------- 


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